


Crimson

by Synekdokee



Series: Mafia AU [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Boy toy!Connor, Come play, Glove Kink, Human AU, M/M, Mafia AU, Marking, Mob boss!Hank, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 10:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: He gives himself a few lazy strokes, and then reaches for his phone, intending to send Hank pictures. Instead there’s a message from his owner.”Left something for you on the side table. Wear it when you wake up.”





	Crimson

**Author's Note:**

> I've had an idea for an AU where Hank is the head of a crime organisation, and Connor is the sweet little boy toy he acquires as a bonus during a business deal. There is an actual plot to it all, but since I'm not sure I'll ever actually tackle it, I've been posting snippets on Twitter lately. Mostly smut. You can see all the posts [here.](https://twitter.com/i/moments/1074761839240724484) (For those new to twitter, if you click the three dots in the right hand corner of the Moment, you can access the full tweet thread.) Mild trigger warning for the fact that Connor starts off as a sex-worker in seedy circumstances, and Hank essentially buys him for his own use. 
> 
>  
> 
> This one was inspired by @defensetrain's art here: https://twitter.com/defensetrain/status/1074716076942868480

Connor wakes up late. The noon sun is high, and he stretches in the spot of light like a cat, feeling the aches from last night. He trails his hand down the bitmarks on his throat and chest, down to the ones on his inner thigh, grinning. Hank likes to mark his property. He gives himself a few lazy strokes, and then reaches for his phone, intending to send Hank pictures. Instead there’s a message from his owner.

”Left something for you on the side table. Wear it when you wake up.”

Curious, he rolls out of bed. There’s a matte black box on the table, adorned with a logo Connor doesn’t recognise. It looks expensive though, as most Hank’s gifts are. He opens the box, and inside is an elaborate collection of velvet ribbons, held together with silver links.

It takes a while for Connor to figure out how to get the thing on. He laughs as the first few times he ends up with straps where straps don’t belong, but eventually he gets it on without tangling himself up. He stands in front of the mirror, admiring Hank’s taste.

The straps loop around his thighs, and meet over his belly, framing his ass and now-erect cock. From there they branch over his stomach and ribs and chest, held together by a larger silver ring over his sternum. They drape over his shoulders and under his arms, meeting in the back, framing his pecs like the most useless bra invented. Connor preens and turns, feeling proud. The crimson velvet looks good against his pale skin, mottled with Hank’s marks. The ribbons don’t sag or pull, clearly a custom piece.

He puts on a pair of black slacks and a white shirt, pleased when he sees the red glow through white cotton. For propriety’s sake he puts on a jacket and a tie, unsure yet if this is one of the things Hank wants to show off or keep just for himself.

 

Hank is, frustratingly, and most likely intentionally, busy the whole day. Connor rattles around the mansion, the staff reduced to a skeleton crew for the holidays.

He’s reading in the library, drinking mulled wine in the light of the opulently decorated tree, surrounded by the scent of pine. Concentrating is hard - he’s been frustrated all day, the ribbon straps constantly reminding him of their existence, leaving him persistently aroused.

He hears sounds from the hall, Hank and his men returning from something Connor isn’t privy to. After a while Markus enters the library, pausing to take in Connor’s cozy scene. He smirks.

”Mr Anderson would like to see you in ten minutes,” he says before withdrawing, and Connor rolls his eyes. Like he’s something Hank has to pencil into his calendar. It’d be demeaning, but he knows Hank enjoys the show of control, in this as much as in anything.

Hank is still in the middle of a meeting when Connor enters his office. He’s still wearing his outer clothes, a thick black wool coat and leather gloves. A blood-red cashmere scarf hangs off his chair, squashed by Hank’s shoulders.

Hank glances at him and crooks his fingers.

”Tell Markus to take care of it,” Hank says, and North nods. Her gaze doesn’t even flicker when Connor seats himself gracefully across Hank’s lap, Hank wrapping an arm around his waist. He gets an absent but fond smile as a reward.

”What about the situation with the Grey brothers?” North asks.

Hank smiles, shark-like. ”I’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse,” he says, and his men laugh, and then begin filing out of the office.

”Hello,” Hank says, resting a gloved hand over Connor’s thigh, holding him close. ”Been a good boy?”

”Yes, sir,” Connor says obediently, stealing a kiss. Hank huffs but indulges him, parting his lips for Connor to lick into his mouth, eager and hungry.

Hank breaks the kiss to reach for Connor’s collar, the tie and jacket discarded sometime after dinner. Hank opens the top button to part the fabric, peering for a glimpse of red. He lets out a satisfied rumble, and begins to undo the rest of Connor’s buttons. Connor grips the thick material of Hank’s coat, his breathing picking up.

”Did you have a good day?” Connor asks.

”Mm, very productive,” Hank murmurs, pushing Connor’s shirt open.

”Look at you,” he breathes, and Connor leans away a little to give him a better look.

Hank traces a finger over the red, the black leather of his glove contrasting with it. He lays a palm over Connor’s chest, then slides it down his ribs, tugging on a ribbon there.

”Such a pretty little toy,” Hank sighs, and Connor grins, happiness welling inside him.

Hank nudges him off his lap gently, and Connor knows what’s expected. He strips slowly, letting Hank look. When his hands go to his belt, Hank pushes his chair further from the desk, spreading his thighs so the tent in his slacks is visible, framed by his hands. Connor’s mouth waters. He pushes his pants down and does a slow turn, his dick swelling between his thighs as Hank drinks him in.

”Christ, I have good taste,” Hank says, and Connor blushes with pleasure. He likes looking good for Hank, and this is why - Hank’s gaze trails up and down his body, lingering and admiring, taking his time to just _look_. No one, not even at the club, has ever looked at him like Hank does. Possessive and adoring at the same time. It makes Connor feel precious, special. Like a prized possession.

”I should have a portrait painted of that ass of yours,” Hank murmurs, beckoning him close. He guides Connor to bend over the desk, hands coming to rest on his buttocks. Connor looks at him over the slope of his shoulder, smiling.

”Or just take a picture to keep with you,” he offers, and Hank raises an eyebrow at him.

”Remind me later,” he says, and cups Connor’s balls in his hand.

The soft leather feels strange on Connor’s sensitive skin. Not unpleasant. There’s something about it that sends a shiver down his spine, something cool and detached in Hank touching him like this. Casual. Controlling.

He hears Hank pull open a drawer, and he drapes himself over the desk with a sigh when he hears the lube cap pop. He presses his cheek against the cool wood, eyes closed with anticipation.

He’s not prepared for the strange, thick feeling of two gloved fingers prodding at him and sliding inside.

”Oh!” He cries out, jerking his head up and around to stare at Hank, eyes wide. Hank’s smirking, staring at him with those cool blue eyes, slowly fucking Connor with his fingers.

Connor quivers and presses his forehead against the desk, panting. He’s so aroused he’s almost nauseous with it, imagining what he must look like, skin criss-crossed with red velvet, Hank’s gloved hand toying with his hole.

”Good enough,” Hank grunts. He grips Connor’s hips and yanks him back, and Connor stumbles into his lap, miraculously managing to not crush Hank’s erection. Hank chuckles in his ear, the sound reverberating through his chest.

”Put me in,” he says gruffly, and Connor nods, stuttering out a ”Yes, sir,” before fumbling underneath himself to unzip Hank’s slacks.

He doesn’t waste time teasing, just takes Hank’s erect cock in his hand and holds it up, Hank’s hands on his hips keeping him steady as he slowly lowers himself. The tip presses against his slick hole, and he bears down, holding his breath as Hank fills him up, slowly, until he’s seated flush in Hank’s lap.

Hank lets out a soft groan, pressing new bruises into the flesh of Connor’s hips and waist.

”We do this constantly, how are you still so tight?” Hank growls, and Connor laughs breathily, and tips himself back until he’s draped against Hank’s broad chest.

”Take them off,” Hank orders, offering Connor his gloved fingers. Connor takes the leather between his teeth, careful, and tugs until it slides off Hank’s hand, and then services the other hand.

He sighs happily when Hank’s bare hands begin caressing him, tracing along the velvet before coming to toy with his nipples.

“Always so perky for me,” Hank teases, tugging at one pebbled nipple. Connor moans, tilting his head back, resting it on Hank’s shoulder.

”Hank..." Connor breathes, and then corrects himself, gut tightening at his slip-up. "Sir… please,” he whines, lips brushing over Hank’s beard. Hank doesn't seem to mind his misstep, just hums and keeps flicking and rolling Connor's nipples. Finally he gives Connor's flank a pat.

“Enough, get to work,” Hank says sternly, giving him a pinch. Connor yelps and bucks his hips before leaning forward to grab the edge of the desk for leverage.

He loves riding Hank. Loves the drag of Hank’s cock inside him, opening him up, filling his guts. The zipper of Hank’s slacks scrapes on the skin of his buttocks, but Connor doesn’t care, just impales himself again and again, Hank’s hands around his waist egging him on.

“That’s it, be a good boy for me, fuck, baby,” Hank growls, lifting his hips to meet Connor with every down move.

There’s a knock on the door, and a man Connor recognises as Hank’s accountant’s assistant steps in. The man comes to a grinding stop, his expression bordering on comical.

“Make it quick or get the fuck out,” Hank roars, holding Connor, panting and wide-eyed, tight in his lap. The man stutters, hesitates, and then blurts out, “It can wait,” before fleeing, slamming the door behind him.

Hank growls with frustration, standing up and tipping Connor over the desk as he begins to pound him, hips thudding against Connor’s ass with each punishing thrust.

“Make a note,” Hank snaps, reaching for a pen and paper, tossing them by Connor. “I need to fire that asshole.”

Connor moans, grabbing the pen with a shaking hand. He gets as far as a messy “Remind Mr An-” before Hank’s cockhead slams over his prostate and the pen skids, leaving a black trail on the paper. Connor wails, scrabbling for purchase on the desk, Hank’s powerful thrusts sending him skidding back and forth.

Hank laughs, taking Connor’s wrists in his hand and pinning them behind his back.

“Don’t worry, you did good,” he says, and Connor’s at least pleased to hear he sounds as wrecked as Connor probably looks.

Hank’s other hand snakes under Connor’s belly, beginning to stroke him. Connor’s surprised he’s lasted this long, considering the simmering arousal that’s been burning under his skin all day. It takes a handful of strokes and he’s coming, a choked scream bursting from his mouth and trailing into breathy little “ah”s as Hank keeps. pounding. him.

“S-sir, n-n-enough, ah,” Connor pants, and Hank just chuckles, smearing Connor’s own come over his belly and the velvet crossing his skin there.

“Hold on, baby,” Hank purrs, pulling out with a slick, obscene sound that makes Connor’s spent cock twitch hopefully. He manhandles Connor onto his back easily, and Connor stares, lips parted as Hank steps between his spread thighs and begins to stroke himself. He looks magnificent, flushed with exertion and lust, his blue eyes trained on Connor’s, pinning him. His barreled chest is rising and falling as he pants, aiming the angry red tip of his cock at Connor.

Hank comes quietly, a gritted grunt the only concession he makes as he spills over Connor’s belly and chest. He strokes himself through it, making sure that Connor gets all of his come, and then drags the head over Connor’s inner thigh, leaving a slick trail there.

Connor lays on the desk, legs spread and dangling, covered in both their come, his crimson gift stained with sweat and semen.

Hank watches him, something tender in his expression that Connor doesn’t get to see often, but is still growing familiar with.

“Beautiful,” Hank breathes, and presses his thumb against a purple bite mark on Connor’s neck.

“ _Beautiful_ ,” he repeats, and Connor smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SynTurtle)  
> [Tumblr.](http://roomfullofcunts.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
